


Everything But the Moon

by rowofstars



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Episode: s04e13 Journey's End, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-27
Updated: 2009-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-19 06:14:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4735535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowofstars/pseuds/rowofstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for challenge #10 at <a class="i-ljuser-profile" href="http://then-theres-us.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://then-theres-us.livejournal.com/">then_theres_us</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything But the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Reviewed by my faithful beta [](http://anepidemic.livejournal.com/profile)[anepidemic](http://anepidemic.livejournal.com/).

The sounds of idle conversation drift through the halls of the Tyler mansion as the party winds down. The guests are always too slow to leave for the Doctor’s taste, so he finds himself in the music room off the east wing.

He sits at the piano seat and stares at the ebony and ivory as if the answers he seeks might be heard in their melody if only he knew what to play. On top of the piano a half glass of wine sits, his fourth of the evening, if he recalls correctly. This body doesn’t resist the effects of alcohol and he already feels too warm and too drunk.

He finishes it anyway.

It’s been five months. Five months of trying to fit in at Jackie’s dinner parties. Five months of trying to make himself useful at Torchwood. He’s only marginally more successful at the latter.

Then there’s Rose. Perhaps he was a bit naïve to think that she could accept him as the same man. The simple fact is he’s not, and he’s not sure he wants to be. So, they’ve slipped into familiar patterns of not friends and not lovers, of desperate looks and complete avoidance.

They’re way too good at this.

He slips off his suit jacket and tugs his tie loose, beginning to regret that last glass. He seeks the comfort of the night air, exiting the French doors to the backyard. There will be another lecture from the elder Lady Tyler about discarded jackets and ties, but he finds it hard to care.

He wanders out past the patio, winding through the flower beds, the gravel path crunching under his shoes. There is a small bench under an arbor further out that offers an unobstructed view of the night sky and the pond.

The moon is high and bright, a perfect crescent shape. It matches the stars that actually appear star shaped, a trick of this Earth’s atmosphere that he found quite amusing his first night here. It’s like something out of a children’s book.

He slips around the corner of the hedge that separates this part of the garden, and finds Rose. She’s still in her party dress, leaning forward with her arms braced on the edge of the bench, bare toes playing in the grass. She looks up at him, unsurprised, almost like she was waiting for him.

Her gaze turns back towards the water and she pats the space beside her. “I hope you don’t mind me inviting myself to your pity party.”

He offers a laugh, of sorts, and a weak smile. “It’s not much of a party with just me.”

Their legs touch as he sits. The bench is too small for anything less intimate. He can feel the warmth of her body, smell the soap she showered in before slipping on her little black dress. She must have a hundred of them; he’s yet to see the same one twice.

He swallows hard, throat and mouth dry from too much alcohol and the dry indoor air. His tongue feels thick and heavy as he speaks. “What is it you want, Rose?”

“What?” she asks. Her feet stop swaying and she turns to look at him.

He pushes himself up and takes a few steps forward, out of the cover of the arbor, turns and walks back to stand in front of her again. His hands hold onto either side of the white lattice as he leans in like he’s about to say something, but the toe of his shoe just kicks idly at the white gravel. Abruptly, he drops his hands and moves away.

She watches him pace back and forth a few more seconds, fists clenched at his sides before calling out to him. “Doctor?”

He drops to his knees in front of her, grasping her hands. He’s not sure if it’s the wine talking or the last straw breaking.

“What do you want, Rose? You want the moon? I’ll give you the moon, Rose. Just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Anything you want. A mortgage? Carpets? Name it!”

He sighs, his hands falling to his lap. “I just – I can’t live in the middle anymore. I only have one heart, and it’s always going to belong to you. I just want that to be enough.”

A smile spreads across Rose’s face, the likes of which he hasn’t seen since he stood in the middle of a street full of rubble and chaos.

“I don’t need the moon,” she whispers.

Then her hands are in his hair, her lips are on his and she’s sliding off the bench into his lap. She presses into him, letting her dress ride up, baring her legs to the chilly night air.

It takes his brain a moment to catch up, but when it does he’s right there with her, hands sliding up her thighs as his tongue slips into her mouth. Skin ends in silk and he cups her arse to pull her against him, letting her feel everything he’s been holding back these lonely five months.

When they finally come up for air, it’s as if a weight has lifted. Tears drip down her cheeks, but her smile and kiss swollen lips make it clear there is nothing but joy behind them. He rests his forehead against hers, catching a glimpse of moonlight sparkling in her dark eyes.

“It’s always been enough,” she manages between deep breaths. “You’ve always been enough. I was just afraid that I – that this life wouldn’t be for you. It’s all mum’s tedious parties and Torchwood and aliens that aren’t really trying to invade at all.”

“Oh Rose. I want you and Torchwood and to make things more sonic just because. I want all this!” he exclaims, throwing his arms out to either side.

Having no support, Rose falls off his lap, landing rather ungracefully on her side in the grass. The Doctor’s eyes go wide, but before he can apologize the perfect sound of her laughter fills the air. He falls down beside her, laughing through his wide smile, certain that between the look on his face and his hair he must look like a madman. Or a man in love.

He isn’t sure how long they stayed like that, laying in the moonlight, but eventually the cold seeps in and they’re forced inside. When they reach the top of the stairs, he doesn’t ask, just follows obediently to her room.

Later, a happy, sated Rose dreams peacefully, her head on his chest. Before he closes his eyes, he looks out the window and sees the lunar sliver shining brightly. His hand reaches up, and for a moment he can almost reach it and pull it down for her.


End file.
